


Though All the Eyes are Lying

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Series: All The Things I Did Not See [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, bau'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's worn so many faces over the years. She thinks it's about time she found one that <i>fits</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Though All the Eyes are Lying

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK ME FOREVER. 
> 
> Thanks to J and P for all of the endless encouragement you both gave me over the course of this. There's no way this would exist without your encyclopaedic knowledge and endless ability to untangle everything in my head. I would have given up on this long ago if it weren't for the both of you.
> 
> Endless thanks to S for beta reading this thing. In case I haven't said it enough, you are a glorious, fantastic, wonderful human being.

She’s freezing. Freezing and bleeding out with no supplies to even slow it, let alone stop it. Natalia knows she is going to die. She’s numb to it by now, shaking in shock and in pain, but also in righteousness. There will be no other little girls kidnapped now, not under the Black Widow Program. 

“Here! Christ, over here! I found him.” Snow crunches. Natalia doesn’t bother to open her eyes. If they’re Russian, she’s dead. If they’re anyone else, it’ll be obvious she isn’t a woman to be saved. 

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.” The voice is stunned. Hands tilt her head. Fingers press to her neck. “I’ve got a pulse! Bring the med kit, dammit, she’s dying!” 

“She?” Another voice, the crunch of running footsteps. “Shit. Shit, Barton, do you even-”

“Shut up and give me the damn kit.” 

Natalia whimpers weakly at the hands tugging at the torn edges of her uniform, pressing against the most fatal of her wounds. He hisses, as if she doesn’t know how severe her injuries are. 

“Barton, it has to be her. We can’t  _ save _ her!” 

“We’re going to. If it is her, we owe her that.” 

God, who do they think she is, a Russian princess? Maybe once upon a time, before she unceremoniously beheaded one of their more prized aristocrats. She huffs. 

“You with me here? Gonna open your eyes, Red?” 

She groans instead. No way in hell is she going to open her eyes. How the hell does he think she has the energy for that. She is  _ dying _ and she’s not even being a drama queen about that. 

There’s a quiet laugh that accompanies the sureness of his hands against the burning pain in her side. “Yeah, it’s nasty, though I saw what you did back there. Some vendetta. But, if Tillman here is right and you are a Black Widow, I can’t blame you. Pretty sure I’d end up homicidal if I was kidnapped, brainwashed and tortured my whole childhood.”

She isn’t sure where she finds the energy to open her eyes to slits, glaring. His smile is blurry and even the dull light of the setting sun makes her head throb. 

“Hey, no, stay with me. Don’t close those pretty eyes.” 

She moans, wants to ask if he’s seriously flirting with her over her very,  _ very _ broken body, but he presses something against her open side. Pain flares sharp and hot through her torso. She hears a long string of the worst swear words before unconsciousness finally swallows her up. 

 

_ He has all the right moves, knows all the right steps and despite herself, Natalia’s enamoured. He’s a rogue and a charmer, she can see it in the sparkle in his eyes. She knows his type. She’s exactly his type, made of the same mold; a bit of an enigma, a little bit dangerous.  _

_ Or in her case, a lot dangerous.  _

_ Not that he needs to know that. Her mission’s been a bust since she walked in and discovered her mark snuggled up to his pretty and very young assistant. She hopes whoever missed that in intel gathering gets shot.  _

_ In the meantime, she’s going to enjoy herself. She is enjoying herself. It’s been awhile since she’s met a man that could keep up with her on the dance floor. Her chuckle is low and sexy as he moves into her space. He shifts back out of it just as easily, a smirk on his face.  _

_ “Can’t blame a man for trying.”  _

_ She hadn’t been and tells him as much with an elegant raise of her eyebrow and an equally as slick slide back into his space.  _

_ “Miss Rushman, my southern sensibilities.”  _

_ But his voice is low, murmured and warm, and Natalia is infatuated by the idea of someone turning her own moves back on her. She knows there’s no way he has any clue about who she is.  _

_ Natalia isn’t the type to break the rules, not her handlers’ rules anyway, but there’s a warm feeling in her stomach that makes her feel like this once, the punishment she’ll likely take will be worth it.  _

 

She wakes up foggy. Too foggy. Foggy like she’s been on the good drugs and fear spikes. She hates the good drugs. Good things never come from the good drugs. They leave her vulnerable, pliant. 

“Hey, hey, whoa. You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re safe.” 

Her gasp makes her side burn and she collapses back to the bed, her body betraying her. 

“You’re really okay,” she hears again, and she lets her head loll to the side. The man is blond and vaguely familiar. His voice is definitely one she’s heard before. “You were kind of touch and go there for a while. Airlifting you out of Russia was crazy. I’ll pilot sometimes and I have done some batshit stunts but I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified as having to fly you half way across the world.”

Halfway across the... “What?”

“You’re in the US,” he says gently. “We had to. Between the people out to get you in Europe, and the expertise we needed to stitch you back together, we didn’t have a choice.”

She licks her lips. He reaches for a cup and offers her an ice chip. She has to swallow a few times before she can ask, “What happened?”

He leans in, but Natalia can’t see so much as a flicker on that face anymore. “Which part?”

She swallows twice, then says, “Here.” 

(She knows how she got injured. She hopes she has scars. It’s not a fight she wants to forget any time soon. Those are scars she will wear with pride.) 

He leans forward and braces his arms on his thighs. “You were pretty roughed up.” 

She’d almost died. She knows what it feels like. It’s not the first time she’s come close but she can admit to herself that it’s the first time she’s cared. It’s the first time her mission has been about more than avenging or defending Mother Russia. 

“You remember we found you in the woods? You, uh, actually made it pretty far. Tough lady.”

Natalia doesn’t preen. She’s a little tired of being tough. 

“Found you by a tree. Thought you were going to stay with me for a while there actually. I’m not used to beautiful women passing out at the sight of me.”

There is nothing that will keep her from rolling her eyes. 

“When you passed out…” He shrugs. Natalia gets the feeling he’s not nearly as nonchalant about it as he looks. It’s in his eyes, eyes she knows she’s seen. “No one had their money on you.” 

Her eyes flutter closed, lids heavy, but a smile slips across her face. “Everyone bets on me.”

“I can see why.” 

She cracks one eyelid open, sees a soft smile on his face and groans again. “Tell me you’re not the type to adopt strays.”

The smile turns into an outright grin and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “No.” 

She breathes a sigh of relief. 

“But my boss is.”

Shit. 

 

She doesn’t ask to see Barton’s boss right away. In fact, she doesn’t ask for almost two months while her body tries to knit itself back together. But she doesn’t leave either, so when she wakes up to a man with an eyepatch and a leather jacket that do not, by any means, make him look like the head of an international spy agency, she’s not exactly surprised. 

“Natalia Romanova. The Black Widow. We should lock you up for life,” he greets calmly, turning another page in his trash-at-the-cash magazine. Barton thinks they’re hilarious; Natalia’s mouth quirks up.

“But you won’t,” Natalia replies calmly. She is not intimidated easily and hasn’t been for a very long time. “I am too valuable.” 

“And too confident by halves. But Barton trusts you.” Fury cocks his head to the side and Natalia arches a responding eyebrow. “Not that he’s the most sane of the bunch, mind you.”

She can’t help the little smile that sneaks out across her face. He’s not wrong. Clint is not, even in her opinion, the sharpest knife in the drawer. But she owes him everything for presenting her with a different choice, a different life. 

“So.” He leans back in his chair, the picture of nonchalance right up until he slides a bunch of blank forms across the table towards her. “What are we going to call you now?”

Her mind stutters for a beat, then: “Natasha,” she says, well aware it’s extremely close to the name she’s used for so many years and thus, arguably dangerous. Except the danger, she thinks, is exactly what she needs. “Romanov.”

“Well then, Miss Romanov. We have some work to do.”

 

_ His hand is warm against her back, solid strength she’s giddy to see as they weave their way through the halls. Her heart is thumping in ways it hasn’t and doesn’t because she is a professional and he, well… He’s only a professional soldier.  _

_ (She is a professional seductress.) _

_ Except, he’s not a mark. He’s not a job. He’s a man she has, for all intents and purposes, allowed to seduce her.  _

_ She likes this side of the coin, likes his easy flattery, even if she’d had the angle pegged from the beginning. She’s let herself be drawn in by his smile, the pain hidden in the edges of it, the look of a soldier entrenched in the depths of his eyes. She knows the look well because she sees it in the mirror in the morning. It’s the first time she’s wanted to know more. _

_ They haven’t spoken of personal things, but many others in their stead. She hasn’t had fun like this for a while, hasn’t let herself, beyond the entertainment that has been ingrained in her since she took her first life.  _

_ (Spy work is fun and games, cat and mouse.  _

_ She is the wolf in sheep’s clothing. _

_ She always wins.) _

_ “Still with me?” he murmurs and his voice sends shivers skittering up and down her spine. It’s not the cold dread she’s used to - the only time she’s been known to get the shivers is when things are about to go terribly, horribly wrong - and she relaxes easily into the pleasure in the feeling, rather than the fear.  _

_ “Where else would I be?” she replies, low and teasing. She lets herself turn into him, laughing when he sweeps her into his arms. It feels different though, more real in the way she doesn’t twist out of it. She’s not playing this time.  _

_ (There is no cat and there is no mouse.  _

_ There are, however, a man and a woman.) _

_ “Darlin’, have you seen yourself?” It’s a genuine compliment as much as his tone is teasing. “You could be anywhere, off ruling the world.”  _

_ She’s surprised by the press of the wall against her back but tilts her head at the gentle brush of his finger against her jaw. His mouth is warm and slick against hers, his tongue friendly but determined, persuasive. It’s so easy to open to him, to let him in. He knows what he’s doing, she can credit him with that. What she can’t quite get her head around is the strange spike of jealousy that lances through her at the idea of the women that came before.  _

_ She finds herself biting into his mouth viciously and gets her hips slammed into the wall in response. It makes her moan, a sound she’s not sure she’s ever made voluntarily, made without calculation behind it.  _

_ He laughs, gets his hand on her chin. “Need a bed for that, sweetheart.”  _

_ It’s an opt out. Natalia can see it for what it is, but she’s not backing down. She should, with her mission a bust and an eventual check in ahead of her, but there’s a feeling in her gut she wants to explore and a man in front of her that has swept her off her feet.  _

_ “So get us there, soldier.” _

_ His grin is blinding and sharp. “As the lady demands.” _

 

She keeps her code name. She’d been ready to fight to keep her code name. It’s not that she’s attached to it, per se, though the metaphor of a black widow is not lost on her. It’s the legend she’s attached to, the hard work she put into making Black Widow a feared phrase. 

She fully intends on using that legend, even if her home country considers her a traitor. 

It helps too, the flash of red hair, the chatter on the lines. Fury’s eyes sparkle in approval every time she returns from a mission and the story’s already reached his ears, blown out of control and beautiful. 

She is no less dangerous as an American spy than she was as a Russian one. The difference is the control, the faith, the support. The feeling of being hung out to dry is gone, replaced by not only an unwavering faith, but also someone who is both willing and happy to come to her defense when her superiors are less than impressed with the way she chooses to cover her tracks. 

For Natasha, who can only remember presenting her loyalty to a cause, now has  _ people _ she is loyal to. There’s Fury, yes, but also Barton - Clint - who ends up in her space more often than not, whether he’s assigned to the mission or a tag-along where he shouldn’t be. She’s adjusted to it enough that finding him in her hotel room across the world from where he should be is all but a common occurrence. 

What isn’t common occurrence is just how wan he looks, how exhausted. White and run through. “Clint?”

His eyes are dull when he lifts his head. “Look. We’re partners, right?” 

Natalia, who had not really known the meaning of the word before him, nods cautiously. 

He rocks a little and her heart climbs into her throat. She’s not used to this, the way the emotion races up in her, chokes her. “I’m getting out.” 

The words don’t make sense to her at first. It’s not a translation error, it’s nothing close, it’s that coming from his mouth the words legitimately and literally don’t make sense. Natalia has never met a person more dedicated to the cause than Clint. She pads over to the bed, settles down beside him and waits. 

“You know they drove Fury out.”

She’s heard rumours. Unsubstantiated rumours that she, admittedly, has not tried to look into. Not for self-preservation, but because she doesn’t trust anyone with power. The fact that she feels any loyalty at all to Nick Fury is a trip and a half. Given that, she’s inclined to believe the rumours are exceptionally true. She wouldn’t put it past Director Pierce anyway. A man like Pierce has an agenda. It only serves to prove to her that they all do. 

Except, she thinks, Clint. His agenda, in her experience, mostly consists of pizza. And she’s had a lot of Clint-related experience. 

“Okay.”

“I think they’re doing the same to me. If I don’t get killed first.” 

Natalia draws on too much of her training to keep from sucking in a harsh breath. Not that she doesn’t understand where he’s coming from. “Okay.”

He laughs bitterly. “Just okay?”

She shrugs. “The last time I quit my job, I killed my handlers and almost myself.”

He’s quiet and she can’t look at him. It’s the closest they’ve come in two years to talking about what transpired in those cold woods. She’s not sure anyone’s confirmed she had been the one to leave a compound of carnage. 

“I’ll be okay without you,” she says, stilted and awkward. 

“Yeah?” But there’s a smile in the corner of his mouth. 

She flips him painfully onto the floor in answer. 

 

Those words come back to haunt her. 

The fire is everywhere. She wants to say she’s been here before - she’s been close to here before - but really, it doesn’t matter. All she knows is that she’s not going to make it out alive without help. A rarity, really, because she is really, really, really damn good at her job. 

Apparently, even the best can miscalculate. 

“I’m going to need an emergency extraction,” she says breathlessly. 

“Negative,” comes through her comm, and Natalia feels her gut go cold. 

She’d had a feeling, of course. She’s had more than a few feelings since Clint told her he was getting out. More and more missions that put her closer and closer to death. But this is the closest she’s come. She covers her face against the smoke and thinks with the most startling clarity,  _ I don’t want to die. _

This isn’t dying for her country. This isn’t putting her life on the line. This is poor planning, not enough intel and a few agents with fingers that had been a little trigger happy from the get-go in Natalia’s opinion. That’s what’s put her here, with her life on the line in a way it never should have been.

So she does something very, very, very stupid. 

“Barton.”

Her breath is short and sharp. Her hip is absolutely throbbing where the fire licked at her skin and she is going to commit justifiable homicide when she returns stateside. “How far are you from Budapest?”

“Depends on how many strings I need to pull.”

Natalia hisses, even as the plan forms in her head. It’s going to suck. “All of them.” 

He swears in English, then again in a language Natalia’s not going to bother to parse. 

“Swear later or I’m not getting out of here.”

“Beacon?”

“No.” She’s going to leave the thing here. No tracker beacon, totally dark. 

“It’s going to take me a few hours.” 

Natalia thinks of a snowy forest, her blood spattered on the ground. “You’ll find me.”

He does, of course, twelve hours later trying to tend to a nasty burn on her hip. It’s going to scar, she knows that. Another one to add to her collection. 

Clint’s vicious swearing is what alerts her to his presence. A minute later there’s a thud, then his hands pushing at hers. “Can’t do anything halfway, can you Romanov? What happened to your extraction.” 

“There wasn’t one.”

His eyes are a storm of emotion when they look up and meet hers. He’s been her beacon for a long time, her barometer on how to act in a world she barely understands on a good day. Here, his gaze is betrayed, frustrated, angry on her behalf. 

“I’m okay,” she finds herself saying in a voice she’s not sure she’s ever used in her life. It’s quiet, gentle. The kind she’s heard people use on animals and children. 

“For how much longer?” 

The fondness hits her like a brick, hard and fast and unyielding. “It’s the job.” She hisses when he presses ointment to the burn, tips her head back. 

“No. The job is putting yourself in danger for the better of America, not your superiors trying to get you killed. Did Fury ever put you directly in the line of fire?” 

She doesn’t have to answer that. Instead, she focuses on the pain in her hip, the rough touch of his callouses over her burnt skin. “It’s not the first time.” 

“I figured.” 

Now she looks at him. “You figured?” 

“Nat. I left.”

She hisses against the pain, then breathes, “Right.” 

“This is why I left.”

“I can’t leave,” she says and breathes into the next press of gauze to her skin. “Clint you know I can’t.” 

“You have nothing to prove,” he argues. She smiles, a little enigmatic thing because of course he would think so.  

“There’s still red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”

“Here?” he asks. “They came after me and now you. What do you think comes next?” 

She has an answer. She has a lot of them, but then Clint drops the hammer. 

“You’ll erase more red alive than you will dead.”

They both know it’s the nail in the proverbial coffin.

Natalia is done.

 

“So come work for me.”

Natalia outright rolls her eyes and carefully measures out her looseleaf, aware Fury probably knows she’s less than impressed with the idea. “Because it’s worked out so well from the first time.” 

“Things were fine before I left,” Fury argues mildly. “Rogers and Barnes run a tight ship. Ex-military.”

She freezes, sweetener poised right above her mug. 

_ “Sergeant James Barnes. 107th.” _

_ “Natalie Rushman.” _

_ A calloused hand. A boyishly blinding grin. “Can I buy you a drink, Ms. Rushman?” _

_ A smile from her, a little predatory, a little anticipatory. “Vodka.” _

_ Another disarming grin, a low whistle. It shouldn’t feel like her stomach has dropped to her toes. “My kind of woman.”  _

“Romanov?”

She closes her eyes and just barely manages not to clear her throat. She’s losing her edge if a simple name can trigger tells she should have stamped out. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

 

The first person she meets on her first day at the BAU is, thankfully, not James. 

“Darcy Lewis, current reigning prank queen - Barton’s lying - and all around tech genius. Apparently also human resources and the local greeting crew, which, trust me, Stark volunteered and nobody wants that.”

Natalia blinks.

“Fury’s told me absolutely nothing about you, which pisses me off as a general rule because I like knowing things and he knows that. So then I did my job and went looking.”

The woman - Lewis, Natalia reminds herself - shrugs. Natalia almost laughs because she is no amateur and this girl projects. But her eyes are sharp. 

“You literally don’t exist.”

_ There’s a good reason for that. _

But it’s not what she says. In fact, she doesn’t say anything and merely raises an eyebrow that has cowed world leaders. Lewis, however, is unfazed. She shrugs again. 

“I figure you’re either like…a criminal on the run, which, that is totally Fury’s style, or you’re some sort of epic spy, and if that’s the case, I’m not sure I want to know.”

Blatant lie and Natalia knows it. It’s written in every line of Lewis’ body, how many questions she has, how much she wants to know. Natalia has faced professional interrogators and torturers. She merely raises an eyebrow. 

Lewis nods once. “I’m going with spy. I’ve got a whole epic backstory that’s working here. Femme fatale and totally badass so don’t ruin my story with your logic.”

Natalia blinks, only in part because that is very close to the truth. She’s never had someone put it that way, like she’s a human and good for what she does, rather than a weapon and a tool.  

“Team’s on their way back from, of course, the middle of nowhere, because apparently serial killers have forgotten how to operate in major cities across America. Get used to that. There are a lot of tiny hotels in your future.” 

She doesn’t say much, lets Darcy carry the conversation as much as she can while they migrate to what will apparently be Natalia’s desk. She’d recognize the chaos of Clint anywhere and smiles as she reaches out to start piling papers together. 

“Uh. Okay. Invading personal space there?” 

Natalia doesn’t so much as glance up. “He won’t mind.”

 

She doesn’t go home. She doesn’t see the point, really, when she doesn’t have a home to get back to. Instead, Lewis sets her up with files in a fair-sized conference room and Natalia sets to skimming. She keeps one ear out though, waiting, patient as her namesake. 

The team’s raucous when they return, happy from an obvious win. She picks them all out, assigns faces to Rogers, to Stark, passes over Clint and stutters completely on Barnes. 

He looks lighter, like the years out of the military have done well for him. He’s not as cocky, a quiet strength instead of brash ego. She feels the corner of her mouth tilt up to see him and hates herself a little. She’s not the type of woman to get hung up on a man, but she thinks she’d know that face, that smile, absolutely anywhere. 

It’s embarrassing. 

Right up until Clint actually yelps because he’s caught sight of his desk and everyone looks over in alarm. 

But Clint, wonderful, magical, adorable Clint Barton catches sight of her in the window and races up the stairs. He absolutely ignores all of her ‘do not touch’ rules (that he knows very well and with intimate detail) to hug her close and tight. “Fury didn’t say a damn thing!”

“He likes surprises,” Natalia murmurs back and does not bury her face in his shoulder. He’s an idiot, he’s an asshole and she’s missed him desperately. 

He’s laughing as he pulls back, holds her at arm’s length. “You know I can’t find a damn thing on my desk now.” 

It feels…normal, like things clicking back into place and Natalia’s never had that. Nothing and no one has felt like Clint. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat clearing and Clint all but jumps away from her. His hand goes to the nape of his neck, like he’s embarrassed and this is all awkward when it’s really very normal and Natalia’s eyebrow rises judgmentally. She thinks Clint may even be blushing. 

The man Natalia faces first is blond-haired and blue-eyed. She knows his face, of course. As if anything could stop her from looking up this new team of hers. She could pick Rogers out of a crowd, and not just because he stands like a soldier. “You’re a friend of Barton’s?”

“And the new transfer,” Lewis pipes up. “My money’s on ex-spy.”

There’s a considering look from a man dressed way above the FBI paygrade. From what Natalia’s read, Stark’s never been good at inconspicuous. “Sucker’s bet, Lewis.” He cocks his chin up. “Looks like one of Fury’s.” 

“We’re not in the business of collecting strays,” Rogers says mildly, but the implications are anything but. There’s blatant distrust written all over his face. “Nor are we Fury’s pet team.” 

“I think we’ll want to keep this one.” 

Natalia finally lets herself look at James. His face is blank, but Natalia isn’t that rusty. There are a lot of emotions there. It’s not hatred, but a cousin of. Distrust too, of course, not that she can fault him that. The worst, she thinks, is that he looks like a man that’s been blindsided

She’s just thinking of opening her mouth to say something when she hears, “Agent Romanov, you made it.” 

Fury she can do, so she gives him the same judgmental eyebrow she’d flashed Clint. “Quantico isn’t exactly difficult to find.” 

Her old boss - now new boss, and that is going to throw her for more than a couple of loops for a bit - flashes the vicious thing he tries to call a smile. “You were lamenting being down a woman with undercover experience, Rogers,” Fury booms. “Agent Romanov has that.”

_ And then some _ . 

“Someone owes me money,” Lewis says. “I said spy.”

Stark doesn’t look away, but digs a fifty from his wallet. “I’ll give you another hundred if you can get popcorn in here in two minutes or less.”

Lewis chirps out a happy, “Challenge accepted!” and Natalia can feel the smile that wants to curve up the corner of her mouth. She is also just as aware of the frustration in every line of Rogers’ body. It’s a face off, one Natalia’s seen a hundred times before and she feels Clint step up behind her shoulder. 

“Happened when I got here too,” he tells her just loud enough for her to hear. 

“Here I thought his file said he played well with others.” 

“If her name is Carter.” 

Natalia angles her head. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Nope.” 

She elbows him for his obnoxious pop of the ‘p’, then again when his ‘oomph’ is overdramatic. She offers a sweet smile when the eyes of the room turn their way and wants to laugh at the way Lewis’ narrow. Fury looks positively gleeful and Natalia almost rolls her eyes. 

She’ll prove herself again. She always does. 

 

_ “No,” he murmurs as his hand tangles in her hair. Natalia’s down on her knees and never in the entirety of her life has she had a man tell her to stop with her mouth that close to his cock.  _

_ “No?” She lets the word come out breathy, wanting, and realizes too late only part of that is fake. “You don’t want me down here?” _

_ “I do,” he answers with a smile that’s too soft. “But not yet.” _

_ She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, but lets the gentle tug on her hair lift her to him, lets him kiss her and plunder her mouth. His hands are big on her body, have been since the first time he pressed his palm to her back. It’s not usually something she likes, the danger that’s inherent in them, the guard she always has up. His are calloused, working man’s hands, soldier’s hands. Yet not once has he touched her without permission. Not once has he been untowards without her initiating.  _

_ Even here, he kisses and kisses and kisses her, unwavering, until her mouth is sore and she knows her face is going to be so, so red from beard burn. It isn’t until she arches into him, shows him with her body that she wants more - and she does, oh does she want; it’s liberating - that his hands curl down over her ass.  _

_ He breaks the kiss, panting, and lifts her off her feet, dumping her on the bed a few steps away. His eyes are hot and wanting, hands trailing up over her ankles, her calves. “Me first.” _

_ She shivers.  _

 

“So,” Wilson says, pretending to buff his nails on his pants. “You and Barnes?”

Natalia bites the inside of her cheek to keep from spitting out the vicious words that crawl up her throat. “No.”

“Sure about that?” he replies, completely calm and unfazed. “And keep in mind, I’m not in the secret-sharing business here. No matter the price.”

It’s both the best and worst thing to say. She’d pegged Wilson as easy-going and trustworthy  but this… He’d never sell a secret and Natalia knows she’s the poster child for trust issues, but this is less of a secret and more of a ticking timebomb she’s waiting to go off without the right tools to disable it. 

“There was something. Once.” 

Natalia spares him a split second glance and hates the little smirk that blossoms over Wilson’s face. 

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Is this a spy thing or a fraternization thing?” 

Natalia’s stomach is rolling because she is also the queen of repression and James has been the one thing in her life she’s protected with every piece of herself. The sex had been amazing, sure, but Natalia knows everything about the sex is the point, not just the physicality of it. 

“If I say fraternization will you leave it alone?” 

She looks over at Wilson at a red light and hates the soft smugness in his face. She hates knowing she’s tipped her hand. She can’t stand the fact that it seems so easy for Wilson to slip under her skin. When he leans back in his seat, she entertains the notion (more the hope) that he’s dropped the subject. 

“You know,” he says as they pull up to their victim’s apartment. “If you wanted to, no one would say anything.”

“No?” Her voice is deceptively calm. 

Wilson’s face is sly. “With how long Lewis and Barton have been sleeping together, you think anyone’s going to pipe up on you and Barnes?” 

Natalia can’t keep herself from barking out a laugh. Wilson grins. 

“Come on, Casanova. We’ve got an apartment to search.” 

 

_ His fingers are gentle on her back, skating up and down her spine. Her nerve endings won’t stop singing, every drag of his hand sparking pleasant shivers.  _

_ “Just stay,” he murmurs into her hair.  _

_ It’s the third time he’s said it. Each time he has it’s led to gentle kisses, escalated into quiet groans, the wet press of tongues. And making out, well… So far it’s always turned a little more desperate, a little more seductive. She’s gloriously sore and pleasantly tingling but she knows she really needs to go.  _

_ Until he ducks in to get at her neck and Natalia feels her body go pliant. “I need to go.”  _

_ He rolls them over easily, pins her to the bed. She probably shouldn’t like it near as much as she does. She could flip him back, of course, but lets him push her down instead. She can lie to him, but her chest goes tight every time she thinks about leaving.  _

_ He leans in, bites at her collarbone. She knows she’s going to be marked up, that it probably won’t go over well with her handlers, since her mark is not the one that did the damage, but he touches her, kisses her like she’s precious gold and Natalia can’t breathe in the face of that intensity.  _

_ She really needs to go.  _

_ She spreads her legs and yanks him up for a kiss instead.  _

 

“Nat can do it,” Clint says, just as Rogers turns to James, the same question on his lips. Rogers cuts himself off halfway and glances over at Clint. Natalia wonders if there’s quite as much distrust in Clint’s face when he looks to James as there is in Rogers’ face when he looks at her. 

Natalia is aware this is a Hail Mary. They’ve tried to be patient, but a man abducting women from stalled cars isn’t as easy to catch as Natalia thinks he should be and his victim toll is getting too high for anyone to be comfortable. It’s frustrating to play in this ballpark, where the lines are more starkly drawn. 

She tosses her head. “Scared and innocent?” She pauses, thinks. “An hour. Tops.” 

Rogers doesn’t look swayed. “Buck-”

“It’s what she does best,” James interrupts. 

Natalia’s emotions do a number of varied and opposing things. It’s only the second time he’s so much as acknowledged anything from before the BAU, about her or between them. That is a thrill, warm and dangerous down her spine. But the acknowledgement is bittersweet in its condescension and judgement, praising and mocking her in equal measure. It turns her stomach to uncomfortable lead. It’s not her fault she’d been working the night she met him and, his resentment aside, she’d done what had been best for all of them. 

“It’s what Fury brought her in for,” Stark pipes up, thread of giddiness in his voice. “Deception. Espionage.” He leans on the latter hard enough to earn himself a glare. 

She isn’t sure why she looks to James then. She’s been content to let him ignore her, treat her like a colleague he’s never seen naked. She’d followed his lead without much thought. It’s the more logical choice, after all. But that knowledge, just how absolutely sure she is about the right choice, doesn’t seem to lessen the impact of his utterly blank face. 

This time, the shiver that drills down her spine is freezing, too fast and violent for her to stop. She very, very deliberately does not analyze what James’ face does. 

“An hour?” Rogers asks, skepticism loud and clear. 

Natalia feels her smile turn sharp. She’s missed hunting like this. “Tops.” 

She does it in forty-five.

She’s putting the final touches on the gentle curls of her hair when there’s a quiet cough. James is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

“Almost ready,” she murmurs absently.

He’s silent for a beat, then two before he says, “You’re sure?” 

“It’s what I do best,” she parrots back, catches his almost minute flinch. “You weren’t wrong.” 

Still, James glances away. “He doesn’t know.” 

Natalia makes an inquisitive noise around the pin stuffed temporarily in her mouth. 

“About that night.” 

The pin drops, literally, pinging loudly in the silent room. 

James seems to take a deep breath. “He knows what Fury wants him to know.” 

“When did you figure it out?” She’s not calm. Not about this and not with him. She hates it, the way he has so much power over her heart after one damn night. 

“The minute I saw you again. Special Agent Natasha Romanov.” He chuckles dryly. “Far cry from the Natalie Rushman I met that night.”

It’s worse that she’s speechless, that she can’t get anything together. When she does manage to open her mouth, she uncharacteristically has no idea what’s going to come out. “Natalia. The Black Widow.” 

There’s a flash of remembrance there, flickering then locked away. “This really is your bread and butter.” 

It startles laughter out of her, a little brittle, but no less real. “Since I was a little girl.”

She expects a responding chuckle. It’s the assumption most people make, that when she references her childhood like that what she really means is that she was born with some sort of innate talent and not from years of hard work and torture. But James does no such thing. He just keeps looking at her with that deceptively blank face. 

“There was a legend,” he begins carefully after a moment. “Back in my army days with Steve. Dernier used to tell it, especially to rookies.” 

Natalia says nothing and doesn’t give away the butterflies in her stomach. 

“He used to convince them that the Russians had this place where they would take kidnapped little girls and train them to be assassins.” His eyes are sharp and burning on the back of her neck. “I always thought it was an excellent urban legend.” 

She bites her cheek, doesn’t quite realize how hard until she tastes the copper of her own blood. 

“Something tells me if I reach out to my contacts at the CIA, they’ll tell me a different story.”

Natalia starts to pack her make up away, precise and slow. They both know she won’t answer. They both know it’s confirmation enough. 

“Your hour’s almost up-” Natalia’s spine straightens as Rogers shows up beside James. Rogers’ gaze flips between them. “Everything okay?”

James takes another beat to meet her eyes in the mirror before he says, confident and sure, “Ready when you are.” 

Natalia doesn’t laugh at the constipated look that spreads over Rogers’ face, but it’s a near thing. 

 

“Dammit Romanov, stall him. Do not go into that house until we’re in position,” Rogers’ voice says, low and frustrated in her ear. Not that Natalia’s listening. She’s been ignoring his orders since he’d warned her not to get into potential (likely, if Natalia’s weighing in on it) UNSUB Bryan’s car. 

“She’s been in way worse scrapes than this Rogers. Hell, her hands aren’t even tied. Amateur move, buddy,” comes Clint’s cheerful voice. He’s always loved the taste of a fight in the air. 

The car pulls to a stop and Natalia’s looking at a tidy little house, entirely unassuming at first glance. She would bet her job on the torture chamber hiding in the basement. 

Bryan’s grinning at her from the driver’s seat. She can see the excitement and knows how to read the hunger in his eyes. “This is me.” 

“Romanov, I swear to Christ I will  _ bench your ass _ if you get out of that car.” 

“She was CIA,” and maybe Natalia shouldn’t be as surprised to hear Stark come to her defense as she is. “She’s fine.” 

“Looks cozy,” she says pleasantly, climbing out of the car. “You’ve found room to make your own wine?” Because it’s the kind of question amateur wine connoisseur and critic Naomi would care about. Her cover is very sophisticated. 

“Basement’s got space.” 

_ Bingo _ . 

“Could he be more cliche?” Clint opines in one of the most unimpressed tones Natalia’s ever heard him use.

“ETA ten minutes. Romanov-”

“Jesus, Steve,” and that is James, low and angry and it almost pulls her up short. “Let the woman do her damn job.” 

“I will not have an agent injured because she was too damn stupid to follow orders.” 

_ I won’t be the one injured, _ she thinks, just as Clint snorts incredulously. 

“Think he has a black belt or something, Rogers?” her partner asks in amusement. 

“Does she?” Rogers grunts back. 

“Not officially,” comes Clint’s smug and sly answer. 

“Come on in and head right down. Door to the basement’s on your left,” Bryan says. “Don’t worry about your shoes.” 

Someone curses in her comm, like the two-inch heels are going to be her downfall. She lets herself roll her eyes this time, since her back is to Bryan and it’s not like the team can see it. She makes a show of going carefully down the stairs, gripping the handrail tight. 

When he hits the bottom, he pounces. It’s the only move he has the chance to make.

With an easy pivot and a deft twist, Bryan’s on his stomach at her feet, arm bent at an awkward angle and her heel on the back of his neck. 

“Agent Romanov,” she says pleasantly. “FBI.” 

Her team storms down the stairs four minutes later, just as Natalia’s seriously considering snapping the guy’s arm from the profanity and filth spewing from his mouth. Clint whistles appreciatively. “I think that takedown broke your record.” 

Natalia grins and lets him and Rogers take control of their UNSUB. When she steps back, James is there, gun in its holster and thumbs looped into his belt. “Record?” 

She shrugs. “I’m really, really good.” 

He nods like he’s considering that, filing it away, before he says ruefully, “You’re something else, Nat.” 

It’s not her real name, not even the full name she chose for herself. It’s the intimacy of the nickname Clint uses, her partner uses. She doesn’t correct him. 

She can recognize an olive branch when she sees one. 

 

The same holds true for Rogers, who finds her in the gym the next morning, bent in half as she cools down from her lighter circuit. “Spar with me.” 

She lifts her head slowly, then rises gracefully from the stretch. “Why?”

Rogers watches her for another moment. “Seems like everyone else knows something I don’t.” 

“It’s all in my file,” she says slowly. Then, after a beat of watching him, she tilts her head to the side. “Which you haven’t read.” 

“Files barely tell half the story. Yours in particular,” he replies. 

“You don’t trust me,” she murmurs.

He’s not apologetic about it, but he does mirror the way her head is still cocked to the side. “Spar with me.”

_ Prove yourself. _

She watches him move as he leads the way to the mats, the way he carries the power coiled in a body he’s perpetually trying to make smaller. He turns on the far edge of the mat, faces her, and waits. Natalia can’t help the laugh that climbs her throat. 

“Me first?” she teases wryly. 

The corner of his mouth tilts up, cocky and confident in a way that she knows is objectively attractive. “Buck always says I’m the perfect gentleman.” 

It makes her laugh before she goes on the attack. A simple pattern of jab, block and retreat that lets her get the feel for his fighting style. He’s throws his bodyweight around, she thinks as she twists away from his dense bulk. He has the strength, quick hands and feet. He plays dirty, which thrills her to no end. Still, he’s not quick enough to dodge the leg she sweeps under his feet. He grunts as he hits the mat and Natalia grins sharply. 

“You telegraph,” she says as he stands and rearranges himself. She slips easily to the side when he comes at her again. The third time, she catches his wrist, shows off a little as she flips it, then herself in a grip-and-twist move that puts him on his back in the blink of an eye. 

Applause draws their attention to Clint’s beaming face as he claps, amused and gleeful. “Not rusty at all, Nat,” he calls. “Don’t worry, Cap. You’re not the first to think she’s easy to take down.” 

She does not preen. Not really, not even beneath the quietly appraising look on Rogers’ face. “Not bad, Romanov.” 

She offers him a nod and pads off the mat, surprised at the way her own pride is filling her heart. Clint takes her place, already nattering away about hand-to-hand, gymnastics and probably that dumb story about how he learned everything he knows because of a childhood spent in a traveling circus. She’s distracted enough with that, with the idea that Rogers trusts her at least a little bit more now, that she almost misses the shadow just steps from the women’s locker room. 

She pulls up short and looks over to find James watching her, arms crossed over his chest. “So that’s you. The real you.” 

Her heart thumps. His eyes are dark, like she’d seen them on that dance floor all those years ago. They dart away as Clint yelps, but come back to her a moment later, jaw shifting like he’s debating his next words. 

“He won’t underestimate you again,” James murmurs. 

“He’s a good man,” she replies slowly. 

James chuckles. “He’s a pain in my ass.” 

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” she answers, looks over her shoulder at Clint. James nods his acknowledgement when she looks back and she takes it as closure. 

“Natasha.”

She stops. 

“You’re beautiful.”

She looks back at him. “I’m lethal.” 

His little half grin is devastating. “They’re not mutually exclusive.” 

The want rears its head, takes the bottom out from under her stomach, leaves her shaky in its wake. She forces herself to suck in a breath and shoves into the change room. 

It doesn’t matter how much she wants. She knows what distrust looks like, even while he’s smiling. 

 

_ She wakes with a plan.  _

_ She also wakes with a warm, strong arm over her hips. She closes her eyes briefly, indulgently, before slipping from the bed. Her clothes are neatly draped on a nearby chair from a minor tidy he’d seemed compelled to do between rounds two and three. Her dress slides on like a second skin, soundless and easy. She refuses to look back at the bed as she collects her shoes.  _

_ It isn’t until she reaches the door that she pauses, hand wrapped around the cool brass of the handle. It’s a moment of weakness but she gives in to it, into the tug in her gut.  _

_ He’s sprawled across the mattress, sheet tangled around the cut muscle of his bare thigh. It’s tantalizing and it bothers her, the way she wants to go back, crawl into his arms and never return to her handlers.  _

_ She doesn’t.  _

_ She fixes her hair in the polished shine of the elevator walls, rubs at her lips, now bare of lipstick. It’s not really the image she’d like to present, but she’s nothing if not good at improvisation.  _

_ It takes twenty minutes to flirt the room number of her target out of the concierge and leave two dead bodies in the penthouse suite.  _

_ And one live one that hurts to leave behind. _

 

“I thought you and Barnes were banging.” 

Natalia looks up at Lewis. There’s something in her face that puts Natalia’s back up. “No.”

“But you have.” Natalia doesn’t bother to acknowledge the statement. “He looks at you like he’s seen you naked.” 

_ Once, a long time ago when we were different people _ , Natalia thinks. Long before he knew even a fraction of who she is and what she’s done. What she says is, “He’s all yours.” 

She’d burst out laughing at the look Lewis sends her if she was a woman with less control. “First of all, ew. That would be like sleeping with my brother. Gross. Second of all, Rogers would probably kill me.” 

Natalia’s going to leave that landmine alone. 

“Except you and Clint are banging.” 

She does not choke. It’s maybe a closer thing than she’d like to admit. “No.”

“Bull,” Lewis says and crosses her arms. Natalia can almost see the pout that wants to spread across her face. “He looks at you like he’s seen you naked, too. How many people have seen you naked?”

Too many, really. But for all of her bluster, Natalia is not blind to how innocent Lewis is. At least, not in comparison to the things Natalia’s seen and the things Natalia’s done. “Does it matter?” 

“No.” 

Jesus. She needs to teach Lewis to lie convincingly. It’s written all over her face. Instead, she leans back in her seat. “He isn’t mine.”

“Except he is.”

Natalia takes that head on, nods lightly. “Not in the way you think.” 

“Because you’re not banging him.” 

This time, Natalia barks out a laugh. “No. No I am not.” 

“But you’re not banging Barnes either.” 

“Can we stop saying that?” Natalia knows they can’t. It’s not Lewis’ style. 

“But he’s all over you.” 

She looks too vulnerable to be talking about James. Natalia snorts inelegantly because a crush is something Clint’s always broadcast with neon lights. “We’ve been partners a very long time.”

“That’s it.”

“That’s always it, Lewis.” 

Lewis is silent and Natalia turns back to her paperwork. The analyst doesn’t leave though, and it makes Natalia’s skin crawl. 

Finally, Lewis says, “Sounds lonely.” 

Natalia doesn’t reply. 

 

In the end, it comes full circle, because Natalia has worked for the Kremlin and never seen a no-holds-barred organization like the CIA. The fact that they have a double agent is probably the least surprising thing Natalia’s ever learned about the organization. 

Las Cruces, New Mexico, isn’t as humid as Phoenix, but it’s not really comfortable either. The city is so Agent Bobbi Morse though that it doesn’t surprise Natalia when she finds the woman in a run-down motel at its outskirts.

“It’s not like you to run away to Mexico,” Natalia says as she stares down the barrel of Morse’s government-issued weapon. “You like Europe too much.” 

Morse’s gun lowers. “And yet here you are.” There’s resignation in her voice. “Figures they’d send you. Didn’t think you were part of the Agency anymore, but I was pretty deep under when that rumour was going around.”

“Some rumours are true.” 

Morse actually jumps when Clint steps around into Morse’s view. 

“Jesus, you too?”

“We’re not here to kill you,” is what Clint says after a few beats of silence. “Pierce wants you alive.”

“I’m no use to him dead,” Morse retorts. “That data’s out there. He knows it. I know it. And I know where it is.” She looks up. “You know Budapest?” 

Natalia nods, once. God, she’d wondered, in that absent way. 

“You should have died.” She breathes in. “Pierce wanted you dead because the Russians did.” 

Clint swears. Natalia doesn’t. She’s pretty sure the Russians still want her dead. She’s probably too pleased about that, given their current predicament. 

“He probably had you followed,” Morse says.

Natalia doesn’t mention the two agents unconscious in a car three blocks away. Morse doesn’t need to know. Neither does Clint, who thinks she’d run a quick errand. A lifetime of skills don’t merely rust away and Natalia thinks she will always get a thrill out of people underestimating just how good she is. 

“From the beginning,” Natalia orders. 

Morse isn’t halting in her explanation. It’s a debrief, clinical, cold, factual; coming across Pierce exchanging information with the Russians, finding proof. It’s infinitely more logical than Morse hunting down agents, eliminating people she’s known for years. It makes more sense when factored against Clint’s choice to leave, her own. Her eyes are shining as she looks them both over. “I’m supposed to be dead.” 

“But you’re not.” Natalia leaves everything else implied. 

Morse blows out a breath. “Pierce is cleaning house. Violently.” 

“You’re sure?” Clint asks even though both Natalia and Morse know he believes her. 

“There are too many coincidences.” Then she stands, pulls open the desk drawer to pull out a USB key that glints in the curtain-diluted sun. 

Natalia feels the thrill spill up her spine. Finding people is all well and good, she’s a master at it, but the cat and mouse game will always be her favourite. She hears a quiet ‘shit’ and figures the savage pleasure of the upcoming battle must be written all over her face. Clint looks a little too gleeful. 

“Smoke him out?” he asks, and looks to Morse. 

Natalia tips her head slowly to one side, then the other, hears the gentle pop and rolls back her shoulders. “Smoke him out.” 

The thing she hates is that she can’t bring the team in, not really, not in the way she should. It’s the team that’s been brought in to hunt Morse down, maybe specifically for Clint and Natalia’s skills, but the whole team nonetheless. She owes it to them to explain why Morse is on the run, that she’s being framed as a traitor when the traitor is the one that brought them in. But it doesn’t feel like they have the time. If Pierce wants Morse dead, the fact that she isn’t, is going to send him through the roof. 

She’s not wrong. Pierce is livid when she and Clint return to Langley, playing up the frustration and uselessness of not being able to find Morse’s hidey-hole. In reality, a USB key burns in Natalia’s pocket until she can leave Pierce in Rogers’ more diplomatic hands and slip from Langley. The road to Quantico is long as she bobs, weaves and doubles back. The two lackies stationed outside of Lewis’ lair barely spare her a glance. 

Lewis turns wide eyes on her. “This is  _ terrifying _ .” 

Natalia rolls her eyes. “Rogers and the spooks told you not to dig.” Not that she expected anything else from the analyst. In fact, she’s kind of banking on that innate curiosity as she digs out the USB. “I need you to pull this up.” 

It takes a blink for Lewis to do so. “Holy shit. Where did you get this?” 

Natalia leans over Lewis’ shoulder. “Morse pulled it off of the computers of the Lemurian Star on her last mission.” 

“Wait. I’m supposed to trust this? It came from our UNSUB!”

“Morse is good,” Natalia murmurs absently as she skims the files, the information. “There.” 

Sure enough, it’s a set of about a dozen pictures of Pierce and a man Natalia knows from the good old days. “Von Strucker.” 

“What?”

“Baron von Strucker,” Natalia repeats, straightens. “Russian. KGB. And not a minion, either.”

“A good man.”

Lewis gasps. Natalia’s spine goes utterly straight, steel along her back. She turns slowly and is entirely unsurprised to find Pierce pointing a gun at Lewis’ head. There’s a whimper from the analyst and Natalia feels her stomach drop. She moves slowly, or tries.

“I’d stop, Romanov.”

She does. It’s not where she wants to be. She can hear the fast pace of Lewis’ breathing just to the side of her, harsh and loud in the pin-drop silence. “Why?”

Pierce looks mildly offended. “For the same reason you defected to us.” 

“I doubt that,” Natalia murmurs. 

“The world is a dangerous place,” Pierce says, his face a mask of earnestness. “The people  _ need  _ us.”

“They need to have faith in us,” Lewis replies, but her voice shakes, rides high in her register. Natalia’s never wanted to protect someone as much - or smack someone so hard for their reckless bravery - as she does Lewis. 

“They do. They believe in what we do.” 

“They won’t,” Natalia says before Lewis can. “Not once this gets out.”

“It’s not going to get out,” Pierce answers with a smile. “Lewis is going to give me that USB key. Any move from you, Romanov, and she dies. Any wrong move from her-” He shrugs. “She still dies.”

Natalia knows Lewis is looking at her, wanting to know what she’s supposed to do. It’s her move and she cannot stand the fact that there is no move that lets her and Lewis get out without injury. “Do it.”

Lewis gasps. “We  _ can’t- _ ”

“Lewis,” she says, sharp and loud. “Give him the stick.” 

She waits hoping upon hope that she’ll get there, that she’ll find that space that moment to attack, to get control back. She doesn’t. Not once. Lewis’ hand shakes as she holds out the stick. Pierce pockets it, gun still pointed at her head. 

“Excellent. Good work, Lewis. Good choice.” Pierce nods. “Now, you’re both going to let me walk out of here, like nothing ever happened.” 

“Fat chance.” 

Lewis screams at the sound of the gunshot. Or conceivably because she gets sprayed with the residual blood from said gunshot. It takes a moment for Pierce to crumple to the floor. When he does, it’s Fury standing behind him, looking beyond pissed off. 

Natalia arches an eyebrow. “What took you so long?” 

Fury gives her a deadpan look. “Next time, let Morse do the code work. She was always better at it than Barton.” 

Natalia grins. 

 

She takes the lecture she gets from Rogers with her head held high. She knows she would make the same choices all over again and from the resigned way Rogers delivers her scolding, he knows it too. They’ll take it though. They’ll all take it. 

It doesn’t change her surprise when she returns to her desk to find James leaning against the edge, scrolling through his phone. His eyes are guarded when he looks up. “Get your wrist slapped?” 

“Something like that,” she agrees, glancing around the empty bullpen. “Clint go home?”

“Took Lewis, I think.” 

Natalia laughs, low and knowing. “Ah.” 

“She’s had a stressful day,” he says like he’s arguing, a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. 

“Extremely,” Natalia agrees.

“She could use the comfort.” 

“Definitely.” 

“And the extra safety.”

“Exactly.” 

There’s a beat before the grins stretch across their faces, beaming at each other in an easy way they haven’t had since the first time they danced. James is the one that breaks it, looking up when Rogers leaves his office. The latter stops at the door and looks back at them both. The head shake he gives them is surprisingly full of affection. 

“Go home, both of you,” he says with a gentleness Natalia’s never heard directed at her before. “We’re back at it tomorrow.” 

“Goodnight, Rogers.” 

“Bye, Steve.” 

There’s a tension that Rogers leaves behind, hovering in the air as she turns back to James, expectation and anticipation both. 

“We should get a drink.”

Natalia doesn’t start, exactly, but there’s a minute pause in where she’s reaching for her bag. “Should we?” 

There’s determination in his face, and stubbornness that warms her stomach. “Yes.” 

The idea is a nice one, maybe for a clean slate, a start where they can put the baggage between them aside. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

She smiles at his surprise and gathers her courage. “On one condition.” 

Intrigue flares in his eyes. “Condition.” 

She lets herself step in close, closer than she ever has as Natalia. She looks up at him, face clear and sure. “I’m Natalia Romanova, former KGB and CIA agent. People call me Natasha.” 

James’ responding smile is blinding. “Sergeant James Barnes. I work for the FBI.” 

“What a coincidence. So do I.” She can feel her own grin splitting her face. 

He holds out his arm. “Can I buy you a drink, Natasha?” 

“Yes James,” she replies, voice rich and layered. She links her arm with his and it feels good, better this time because this time they both know it’s real. “I think a drink is an excellent start.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [tumblr](kavileighanna.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or [read more ficlets here.](kavific.tumblr.com)


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